


Perfect

by Lynds



Category: Captain America (Movies), X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Charles Is a Big Dorkface, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Charles and Steve use their privilege, Charles is a Sweetheart, He's also a little shit, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protests, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-19 13:58:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22878808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynds/pseuds/Lynds
Summary: People have been trying to set Charles and Steve up for years, declaring that they’d be perfect for each other. Both Steve and Charles have so far always managed to avoid or wriggle out of meeting each other - because whatever their friends might think, they are not the saintly, innocent angels that everyone thinks they are and the last thing they want is to be paired up with someone who IS like that.Then, one day, by complete accident, Charles and Steve run into each other.Turns out, they ARE perfect for each other. Just not in the way that everyone thinks.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Charles Xavier
Comments: 23
Kudos: 98
Collections: X-Men Rare Pairs 2020





	Perfect

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lachatblanche](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lachatblanche/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [lachatblanche](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lachatblanche/pseuds/lachatblanche) in the [xmenrarepairs20](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/xmenrarepairs20) collection. 



> **Bonus: I would love if you could show how brilliant and pragmatic and perhaps even ruthless Charles and Steve can be should the need arise.**
> 
> **This can be in any setting you like (ie from canon to college to space AU) powered or non-powered etc.**
> 
> From lachatblanche's prompt on the X-Men Rare Pairs '20 fest - the prompt was so good I just used it as a summary, so thank you very much for saving me from the hell of summary writing lol!

“He would be perfect for you, Charles,” Erik said earnestly, bouncing baby Wanda on his knee. “I think you’re both involved in the same charities, even, and although he’s more of an artist than a scientist, he’s spent enough time around Tony to impress us all with how well he can keep up.”

Charles gritted his teeth and pretended to be absorbed in Pietro’s babbling. To be fair, it was adorable, the little boy fascinated by his toes, his eyes wide, glancing up to Charles every now and then as if to say ‘have you seen these? Have you _seen_ them?’

“Don’t think you can ignore me, Charles.”

“I’m sure he’s the very model of a man,” Charles said, smiling wryly at Erik. 

“Then why won’t you meet him? Don’t think we haven’t noticed.”

“Oh, it’s we, is it? Just how many of my friends see fit to meddle in my love life?” Charles said, his indignation mostly a sham. Mostly.

“Charles,” Erik said, and oh no, he was doing that _serious_ voice. “We’re worried about you. All of us. Look, you’re just… you’re such a great person, you deserve someone as kind and thoughtful as you are and it just breaks my heart that you think you don’t.”

“I don’t think that,” he protested.

“Yes you do,” Erik said. “For an arrogant man, you’ve always been ludicrously insecure.”

“Absolutely what everyone wants to hear from their ex.”

Erik pinched the bridge of his nose. “Dammit. I should have sent Magda to do this.”

“No, you shouldn’t, Erik,” he said, rotating his chair carefully with the electronic assist while holding onto Pietro with his right hand. “You shouldn’t be worrying about me, either of you, not when you’ve got so much to deal with yourselves. The twins aren’t even six months old, Nina’s just started kindergarten, and Lorna’s best friend just moved away - I don’t know how you can even have space in your mind for my love life!”

Erik sighed. “It’s a great distraction,” he said.

Charles smiled up at him fondly. “Well, if that’s the case, I suppose I’ll have to put up with it.”

“So you’ll meet him?”

“Oh, I didn’t say that. I’ll just put up with you trying to convince me.”

Erik groaned. “You’re hopeless! Give me my child, I’m rescinding honorary uncle duties.”

“Nooo!” Charles laughed, hugging Pietro, who was now chewing on his whole fist. Pietro looked up at Charles and gave him a gummy grin. Wanda grabbed at the arm-rest of Charles chair, leaned over and started chewing on the leather. 

“Stop that, you little alligator,” Erik said, detaching her carefully and giving her a teether instead. Wanda bashed it on the table. Erik sighed and checked his watch. “I have to go, Nina finishes at three.”

Charles leaned over to strap Pietro into the double buggy and kissed his tiny nose. Pietro pulled his hair, and had to be disentangled. “You’ll make me bald before my time,” Charles grinned, kissing Wanda, who did exactly the same.

“I’m sure Steve wouldn’t mind you bald,” Erik said.

Charles rolled his eyes. “Does Magda know how much you love Steve?”

He snorted. “Magda adores Steve, you should hear her talk. I definitely should have sent her along, she’d convince you.”

“You should _not_ send her along, she needs her sleep.”

“God yes,” Erik sighed and stared off into the distance wistfully. “I remember sleep.”

Charles smiled up at him. “Would you like me to entertain them for a few hours while you get some rest too?”

“Yes,” Erik said. “Yes, so very much yes.”

He snorted. “You’re an idiot. You know you can ask any time, right? Bring them over tomorrow, I can mind them all afternoon. You know my lecture schedule?”

“I’m sleep deprived, Charles, I know literally nothing.”

“I’ll text it to you,” he laughed. “Now go, and hug the rest of your brood for me please!”

He watched Erik leave, manoeuvering the vast double buggy with a skill honed over four children, leaned back in his chair and sighed. 

This Steve was shaping up to be the bane of his life. Everyone seemed to know him, and everyone seemed to think he’d be perfect for Charles. Trouble was, everyone also seemed to think that Charles would be perfect for him.

Charles was not perfect for him. Charles was a great big lying liar who lied. Charles was exceptionally good at _pretending_ to be good, and being around someone who genuinely helped little old ladies across the street and thought of nothing but puppies and rainbows would quite possibly drive Charles to distraction. No, he didn’t need someone who was perfect. And anyway, he thought as he paid for a second coffee to go, Steve would probably be horrified when he got to know Charles, and got to see the cynicism and deep Machiavellian streak.

He made his way towards his apartment, the electric motor of his chair whirring as he started up the hill almost drowning out the sound of some sort of gathering a block or so away. Charles glanced down a side street to the next road, seeing people marching and chanting - a protest. He wondered idly what it was about. 

He must be getting old. Time was he and Erik would have been the first ones at any sort of march. The two of them had been notorious in their own college days, leading marches together almost as often as they butted heads in debates. That was probably where everyone got the idea that Charles was so _nice._ He tended to argue for integration and education, where Erik tended to get stuck on ‘Punch a Nazi’ and always got in trouble for it. Charles _agreed_ with ‘Punch a Nazi’, for heaven’s sake! It was just better to knock them down and run them over with his chair while apologising loudly and _very_ sincerely. Apparently people believed him when he was sincere. 

He came to a stop, the pavement blocked by a tall blonde man with the most incredible arse Charles had ever seen (and he’d dated Erik _and_ Logan). Charles maybe took a little longer than usual to clear his throat. “Excuse me.”

The man didn’t respond, and Charles’ attraction was eclipsed by irritation. He guided the chair forwards again, glancing at the space beside the man, wondering whether he could squeeze past - and then saw the dog. A lovely golden lab, looking up at the blonde guy and whining, scratching at his leg with one paw. He was wearing a red service dog bib, and Charles’ irritation fell away immediately. He looked up properly, now in a better position to see the blonde man’s hand pressed against his face, his chest heaving breaths much too fast.

“You’re having a panic attack,” he said, wishing he could get in front of the man and make himself less of a threat. “You’re outside the Dollar Tree on Bergen Street, Brooklyn, New York, it’s two thirty in the afternoon.”

The man leaned further against the wall and Charles was able to wheel past, mindful of the dog’s tail. He glanced around, thinking of anything that might help. “Do you have any medication?”

The man shook his head. “Good, it’s good that you can respond. You’re doing well,” Charles insisted. “Can you tell me what I can do to help?”

He shook his head, his breathing speeding up. The dog whined and scratched at his jeans again. “OK, that’s absolutely fine,” Charles said, keeping his voice in the same calm, casual tone. “Could you sit down, perhaps? Your dog looks like she could use a hug.”

The man pressed his back to the wall and slowly slid down, still with his hands over his face, his shoulders so tense they were practically bursting out of his shirt. As soon as he was within reach, the dog started licking his hands, whining in his ears and nudging her nose under his arms. Within a moment he was burying his fingers in her fur, tugging her closer and hugging her. 

“I’m sorry,” he said roughly, his face still hidden in the dog’s neck.

“Don’t be,” Charles said. “Never apologise for a panic attack, it’s not something to be ashamed of.”

He chuckled. “You sound like you’ve got experience.”

“Unfortunately - people think PTSD is the preserve of soldiers, but it’s more common in civilians, actually.”

The blond man smiled up at him, and it was a lovely thing. “I’m afraid I’m propagating the stereotype, then,” he said. “I was in the commandos.”

“Ah, I’m sorry,” Charles said, grimacing. 

He just shook his head, quirking a false smile, and hugged the dog again. Charles wondered if he wanted him to leave, and licked his lips awkwardly.

“I thought the noise would be different enough,” he said, and Charles cocked his head to one side.

“What do you mean?”

He gestured towards the crowd down the side street. “I thought… there’s not going to be any gunshots, right? What could I get triggered by? Surely I can tough it out for a good cause.”

Charles shrugged. “PTSD doesn’t care what you want, I suppose.”

He shook his head and pushed himself to his feet, holding out one hand. “I’m Steve Rogers,” he said. “This here’s Star.”

Charles laughed. “Charles Xavier - sorry for laughing, it’s just a coincidence. My friend was talking about a Steve only a minute ago.”

Steve shrugged. “It’s a common name, I guess,” he grinned, scuffing his hair.

“I know that feeling,” he said. “So… you were going to the protest?”

Steve looked up, a fire flashing in his eyes. “Yeah… it just pisses me off, you know? The cuts are affecting places like that, that do so much for the community, and the money just goes into the so-called defence budget to send more kids off like me, fresh out of school and pumped up to the eyeballs in propaganda, and when we come back all jumpy and gun-shy, guess what? There’s no freaking money to support us!”

Charles blinked at him, and Steve went pink. “Sorry,” he said, and he did that adorable hair scuff again. “I’m still a bit het up.”

“No… no, not at all! I’m afraid I didn’t know what the march was for, I’m a bit out of touch at the moment - exam season, you see.”

“You’re a student?”

“Ha ha,” Charles said, rolling his eyes. “I’m a professor.”

“Oh! Wow, when I think _professor_ I’m usually imagining some old guy with a tweed jacket and elbow patches, not…”

“Babyfaced?”

“...hot.”

This time they both blushed. Charles looked down, then back up at him. “Well… I do have a tweed jacket, to be fair,” he admitted.

Steve grinned and shook his head. “Damn, that was… not smooth. At all.”

“It was very flattering, particularly coming from someone who looks like you,” Charles retorted.

“Oh, what, sweaty and grimy and with bags under his eyes more like suitcases?”

Charles laughed. “Those are things nobody in the world thinks of when they see you,” he said. “And they’re also a direct result of having a panic attack - are you OK, by the way?”

Steve sighed and fussed with Star’s ears. “Tired,” he admitted. He straightened up and set his jaw. “I’m going back in, though. The IEDs didn’t stop me then, and they’re not gonna stop me now, especially when they’re damn well imaginary.”

Charles smiled, a warmth spreading through him, something like pride at this man’s stubbornness. “Would you like some company, in that case?”

“Really?” he asked. “I’d really appreciate it, if you don’t mind. Just… having someone there who knows… you know?”

“I’d be glad to help. Now, can you tell me more about what we’re protesting?”

Steve fell into step beside his chair as they took the alley to the next block. “The clinic here’s been getting funding for years to support mental health in Brooklyn. They provide free addiction clinics, HIV testing, parenting support and primary health care, and the staff there all work their asses off for the people in the area. They’ve also been running a bunch of different types of therapy, particularly for young people - I ended up there myself a few times as a kid, anger issues, you know?”

Charles shrugged. “There’s a lot to be angry about.”

“Exactly! But yeah… I was a bit of a tearaway, always getting into fights. I used to get beat up a lot. Like, a _lot,_ a lot.”

Charles laughed. “Really?”

Steve nodded. “Uh-huh, I was a scrawny little thing. Only bulked up after my basic training. Anyway, I’ve been coming here a lot for these group therapy sessions, they’ve been really helpful. I was hoping to sign up to volunteer a bit, you know? Give something back? But then the news comes through that they’re cutting all the funding - not just a little, they’re stripping it right back, and what’s always the first to go?”

“Mental health,” they said at the same time.

“Exactly! And yeah, fair enough, people need to be stitched up, and tested for STIs, all that stuff’s really important. But so’s the mind, right?”

“Of course.”

“So we heard they’ve got a representative coming down, kind of a positive propaganda visit, you know, kiss some babies, show everyone how much the government cares about the people - my ass. My friend Sam, he runs the VA meetings, he got everyone together. There’s loads of people out there, he’s got some of the old ladies on board and you know what they’re like, they’re getting everyone else to come along. There’s a group of the moms from the toddler groups, there’s a bunch of kids who use the place as an escape from some gang stuff, and of course, most of the VA guys.” He frowned. “Don’t see _them_ sneaking off to go hyperventilate.”

“And perhaps they didn’t see you,” Charles said firmly. “They might have had a panic attack earlier in the day, they might have one later. They might be lucky - just because you were triggered doesn’t make you weak, you know.”

Steve smiled down at him. “Thanks. Sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry. But you also don’t need to stand to attention all day to be strong. I think you’re incredibly strong for getting back into it straight after a panic attack.”

“Well… I’ve got help,” he said, glancing at Charles out of the corner of his eyes.

Charles grinned, and felt himself flush. “I’ve no idea how, but if I can help, I will.”

Steve had his mouth open to say something, when the shouts from the front rose in volume, a tone of anger sneaking in. “What’s going on?” Charles asked.

Steve lifted himself onto the balls of his feet to look over the crowd of heads. “They’ve brought in police - what the hell? This was a peaceful protest!”

“What are they doing?”

“Looks like they’re trying to clear people away, they can’t do this!”

Charles narrowed his eyes and started forwards, skirting the edge of the group to the front. A line of riot police were forming, facing off against the crowd of old women and teenagers. A lithe black man was standing at the head of the group, megaphone in hand, starting up a chant.

“That’s Sam,” Steve said from beside Charles, and Charles glanced over to see Steve’s hands white-knuckled on Star’s lead. “Shit, the damn fool’s going to get himself killed, a black guy at the head of a protest?”

“We’re gonna need you to clear the area,” a voice called out over a loudhailer, and Charles craned his neck to see an armoured van beginning to move slowly towards the protest line. The riot police started walking forward slowly, and the protestors started to falter, stumbling back away from the encroaching threat.

“Steve,” said Charles suddenly. “Do you think you could pick me up?”

“What?”

“I don’t imagine they’d drive a riot van over a paraplegic white man, do you?” He smirked up at Steve and fluttered his eyelashes at him.

Steve looked down at him and his smile turned positive vulpine. “You got it, prof,” he grinned, and scooped Charles up easily, rushing forwards with him and placing him down on the road right in the way of the van. He then settled himself beside Charles, sitting cross-legged and tugging Star onto his lap, ruffling at her ears.

“Steven Grant Rogers, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” yelled Sam.

“Fighting bullies, Sam!” Steve yelled, and laughed wildly at himself. Charles tucked his own legs into a more solid position.

“Excuse me, sir, you’re gonna need to get out of the way,” called the loudhailer.

“I can’t!” Charles yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth. He could see a news van draw up in the corner of his eye. “I don’t have my wheelchair!”

***

Charles laughed so hard into his beer that he thought he might give himself a hernia. Steve was in a similar condition to his left, and Sam just sat across from them, shaking his head and pretending that he wasn’t smiling. “You’re both as bad as each other,” he said.

“I can’t believe they had to un-arrest you!” Steve laughed, wiping his eyes. “They put you in handcuffs--”

“Yeah, word to the wise, putting both middle fingers up at the police just allows them to get the cuffs on you easier,” said Angel, sliding into the seat next to Sam, Raven just behind her.

“Hello, darlings,” Charles said, tugging his sister down to kiss her cheek. “Did you hear, I was arrested?”

“And then un-arrested?” Steve added, and went off into giggles again. “Because they didn’t have a wheelchair accessible van?”

“Unlike this asshole, who had to be bailed out by Charles.”

“It was absolutely worth it,” Charles said. 

“I knew they’d get along like a house on fire,” Raven said to Angel.

“What, you mean with lots of screaming people running away? Yeah, you predicted that right,” Angel said, grinning.

“What are you talking about?” asked Sam.

“This is my brother Charles,” Raven said. “You know, the one I’m always trying to set Steve up with?”

Steve spat his beer back into the cup. Charles stared at her, his mouth hanging open. “I’m sorry, you what?”

Raven looked at him flatly, then turned to Steve. “Has he gone this entire time without asking your name? I’m so sorry, he’s really clever, just not very _bright,_ you know?”

“No, no, I know his name, I just… _this Steve?”_

“This is the Charles people keep telling me is such an angel and so sweet and adopts puppies and kittens and is basically perfect? This Charles? The guy who just cheerfully told a cop to go fuck himself as he left the station?”

“Well yeah! He has like three stray cats in his house,” Raven said.

“They’re not strays, they’re just independent,” Charles protested. “And _this_ can’t be the Steve who literally helps old ladies cross the street!”

“Uh, if you mean Mrs Herrera, I mean, she’s just lonely, and she doesn’t see so well, but she’s too damn stubborn to get glasses, so, you know, yeah, sometimes I help her to the bodega.”

“Oh! Is she the one who threw a tomato at the van?” Charles asked.

“That’s her! You’d love her, she’s got a real wicked sense of humour, and she makes a mean cup of tea.”

“Are you serious?” Charles gasped. “Nobody makes tea in this country!”

“Mrs Herrera does - she lived in England for a few years when she was in her fifties, apparently she gets her daughter to send it over.” Steve looked suddenly awkward. “You could… come visit her with me if you like?”

“Oh, I couldn’t impose, it would be terribly rude.”

“No, she’d like to meet you, I’m sure. And… well, she’s always asking if I’ve got, like, a date…”

Charles smiled at Steve, warmth rushing through his chest. “I’d like that.”

“Oh, my god,” Angel said, and Charles turned to see the three of them staring at him and Steve. “Did they just…?”

“That is the most Charles and Steve thing ever,” Raven said, shaking her head. “They’re going to an old lady’s house for their first date.”

Steve went bright red. “Oh, no! I mean, I’d take you out somewhere as well, you know? I just meant--”

Sam shook his head and leaned over to squeeze his shoulder. “Man, you just found your perfect guy. Now go meet his cats and your friendly old ladies and be disgustingly nice together.”

“I am not nice!” Steve and Charles said at the same time.

They glanced at each other while Sam, Angel and Raven cracked up laughing. “I believe you,” Steve said, nudging him. “Nobody _nice_ could use their disability as a weapon.”

“And nobody _nice_ would agree to it,” Charles grinned back.

“Hey, whatever gets the job done,” Steve said, raising his hands.

“That’s what I always say! You have to use all the tools in your arsenal to get the job done.” He glanced at his sister and friends, still cackling. “So… would you maybe like to get dinner sometime? Sometime like now?”

“That sounds perfect,” Steve said.


End file.
